


ain't nothing but a hound dog

by funvee



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, meet cute, tumblr fic turned...longer one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funvee/pseuds/funvee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos's dog has been stealing Aramis's newspaper for weeks. Aramis runs after the dog to stop it, and meets Porthos in the process. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Man With a Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mellyflori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/gifts).



> This will be updated whenever I can get to it. Melly -- this is absolutely for you, so I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

“No! No, no, no, no, _no_!” Aramis shouted as he burst out of his house, wearing nothing but his boxers. A dark black flash had ripped across his yard with his newspaper and Aramis was tired of finding bits and pieces of the daily news across his lawn. He tore after the dog, waving his arms at it as it chomped down and drooled on his newspaper.

A high pitched whistle blared out into the bright morning air and the dog screeched to a halt on Aramis’s lawn.

"Dumas, _sit_!” A deep voice shouted out from the yard next to his. Aramis whipped his head around to look for the source of the voice. His neighbor stood in his own yard, staring at his dog, who was now sitting quite happily on Aramis's driveway, his newspaper at his feet. His neighbor came closer, whistling again. Now that he could see him better, Aramis found himself staring at his neighbor.

He was dark skinned and muscular, wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His short curly hair was mushed against one side of his head. He looked like he'd literally just rolled out of bed. His neighbor was _hot_.

"Your…your dog has been stealing my paper for _weeks_ ,” Aramis panted, waving a hand at the dumb dog. The dog wagged its tail in response, its tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"I was wonderin’ whose paper he’d been bringin' in," His neighbor offered, with a bright white smile. He added, "Sorry about that."

"Uh," Aramis offered, staring some more. Jesus, how long had he been living next to _that_?

"I’m Porthos, by the way," His neighbor said, smiling again. He held a large hand out, and Aramis took it in his and shook it once. His hand felt tiny in his and Aramis tried very hard to not think about how large other parts of him might be. Now was _not_ the time for that.

"Aramis," He answered, shifting his weight to his other foot. It was then that he remembered he was only wearing his boxers. The boxers that were covered in little red hearts.

Shit.

Aramis caught Porthos giving him the once over and tried not to squirm under his gaze.

"Lemme make it up to you?" Porthos offered, looking back up at Aramis with another blindingly white smile.

"Oh no, you don't have to do that," Aramis responded, shaking his head. He'd been pissed before about his newspapers going missing, but finding out that his neighbor was hot seemed to be worth it somehow. An even exchange, if you will.

"I _want_ to -- Dumas has been bringin' me your paper for weeks, like y'said. I can't just...let that go," Porthos answered, looking genuinely sorry about it.

Aramis started to feel bad for him, before he remembered that he was the one who had been out a newspaper. Despite that, he didn't think Porthos needed to make it up to him or anything. It was just a newspaper. The dog hadn't run off with his tv. "It's fine, _really_ ," Aramis repeated.

"No, no. Um..." Porthos paused, glancing over to his dog, who was peacefully rolling around on Aramis's driveway. He snorted at the sight before turning back to Aramis. He was quiet for a moment, before adding, "Let me...treat you to dinner?"

Aramis's eyes went wide in surprise. When Porthos said he'd make it up to him, he'd been thinking like...a monetary exchange of sorts. Payment for the papers his dog had run off with. But dinner? Dinner with this giant, handsome man? ...He could deal with that.

He let a smile take over his face and nodded at Porthos. "Alright," Aramis answered. He shifted, clasping his hands together in front of him, thinking himself lucky that it was relatively warm out. Why had he run out of his house without clothes? "Dinner it is, then," he continued, grinning.

Porthos's eyebrows shot up his face, jaw dropping just a little bit. "Really, that easy? I thought I'd have to persuade you," He said, laughing.

Aramis shrugged as if it was no big deal. "Well, it's not exactly a hardship..." He said, grinning. He nodded towards Porthos and added, "Have you seen yourself lately?"

He watched as Porthos's cheeks turned a delightful shade of maroon. The blush covered his face and descended down his neck. Aramis wondered exactly how far down it went, and beamed at him.

"I gotta go get ready for work but uh...let's exchange numbers? So I can contact you about dinner, yeah?" Porthos asked, still bright red. He dug into the pocket of his gym shorts and brought out his phone. He tapped on the screen a few times before handing it to Aramis.

Aramis filled his number into the blank contact page and then put "Aramis -- Neighbor" in at the top for his name. He handed it back with a smile. "Text me so I have yours?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. His own phone was on his kitchen table -- he didn't have pockets in his boxers, and he'd sort of thrown it when he'd heard the dog in his yard again.

Porthos nodded. "Sure," He said, poking at the phone screen again. "There you go," He murmured, looking up and grinning.

God, his grin was _deadly_. It took over Porthos's entire face and Aramis was willing to bet it would light up entire rooms if they were inside. As they weren't, it simply became a rival for the sun itself.

"Talk to y'later, then?" Porthos asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aramis nodded, letting his own grin grow wider.

Porthos smiled again and whistled, an ear-piercing pitch that got the attention of his dog. Dumas pulled himself up onto his paws and trotted over to his owner, sitting down by Porthos's feet. Porthos scratched him behind the ears before turning and walking back to his porch. Dumas followed, tail wagging.

Aramis waved and meandered his way down the driveway to pick up the slobbery newspaper that Dumas had left behind. He held it gingerly between his fingers, dropping it down on his kitchen table once he was inside.

What a morning.

He peeled the front page of the newspaper away from the rest of it and dumped it in the trashcan. It was unreadable -- completely coated in dog drool and there had been holes it in from Dumas's teeth. No use trying to decipher anything when he could just read the online version of the front page. He'd been resorting to that for weeks now, ever since his papers had gone missing. He hated the online versions -- reading something on a screen just took something away from the process.

He didn't have to worry about that, anymore. He had his paper and now he knew who his neighbor was. His incredibly hot, totally nice neighbor.

Totally worth reading the online paper for a few weeks.

Aramis read the remaining bits of the news while sipping at his morning coffee. He flipped through the large pages until he caught sight of what time it was. 8:45 blinked back at him from above the microwave and Aramis shouted as he grabbed his phone and ran back into his bedroom.

No time for a shower. He threw on clothes, hoping they were clean as he slipped his legs into his pant legs. He brushed his teeth quickly, ran his hands through his hair to put it in some sort of order and finished the rest of his toilet before shoving his feet in his shoes, grabbing his keys and throwing himself into his car.

He was late, late, late.

Hopefully, Athos would understand.


	2. A Late Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally never been in a restaurant kitchen. Please excuse any dumb mistakes I've made.

Aramis skidded into The Garrison's kitchen, halfway through putting on his chef's jacket. One of the empty arms flew out behind him like a tail as he flew to his spot behind a metal counter. He hurriedly shoved himself into the rest of the jacket, whipping a red paisley bandana out of the pocket and carefully tying it around his hair.

"Aramis," Athos called, from the opposite side of the kitchen. He was already dressed for work in the kitchen, his own hair tucked into another bandana, though his was plain black. He didn't sound too happy, but Aramis was well aware of how Athos tended to be more bark than bite.

He'd worked for the man for over two years now as a pastry chef. Athos owned the restaurant and worked as a sous chef in the kitchen. Aramis had asked him once why he wasn't head chef and Athos had barely given him a proper answer, circling around the actual answer as much as possible. As far as Aramis could tell, Athos just liked using the knives.

He did like the job -- Athos let him pick what desserts made the menu, and how to make them. It ended up changing every other week as Aramis found knew recipes to experiment with. Of course, he had his standard desserts that stayed on the menu, no matter what. Chocolate cake, eclairs, cheesecake, chocolate mousse. Aramis had a soft spot a mile wide for all things chocolate.

"I can explain _everything_ ," Aramis started, walking forward to meet Athos in the middle of the kitchen. The other man crossed his arms over his chest and fixed him with an impatient look.

"That's the...what, third time this week?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow. Aramis flicked his eyes to the ceiling as he thought about the previous three times he'd been late. There was the day he'd slept in, and the day he'd been too hungover to care...and now the thing with his neighbor, Porthos. That was three, right?

"I really _do_ have a good explanation this time," Aramis offered, giving him his best innocent expression. It involved wide eyes and a closed lipped smile, with a slight tilt of his head to the left. Athos usually saw right through it and didn't disappoint this time.

"Alright, so let's hear it," Athos answered, waving a hand to get the proceedings going.

"Uh, so this dog has been stealing my newspaper and uh, I found out this morning that the dog's my neighbor's and uh...I met my neighbor," Aramis finished, cheeks turning a faint pink color. He was still having a hard time believing that someone as hot as Porthos lived in the house right next to his. His luck was _never_ that good.

"And your neighbor is attractive, am I right?" Athos asked, looking amused.

Aramis blinked at him. "How'd you know?"

Athos waved a hand towards Aramis's face. "You're pink, and you've got that look on your face you get when you see someone you're interested in," he explained, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

Aramis knew then he was in the clear.

"Since you're like...half an hour late..." Athos paused to look over his shoulder at the giant clock that hung on the wall. He turned back to face Aramis and continued, "We had d'Artagnan start making the cakes..."

" _What_!?" Aramis shouted in disbelief, turning on his heel and stomping to the his domain -- the back corner of the kitchen where the pastries, cakes and sweets were made. Sure enough, the youngest member of the kitchen was elbow deep in cocoa powder and what Aramis thought was butter.

He never let d'Artagnan start any of the recipes. He could manage finishing them off, could manage icing and pumping pastry cream into things, but for some reason, he'd never mastered _starting_ anything. Aramis pulled up beside d'Artagnan and stared down into the massive steel bowl he had his hands in.

"What are you doing?" He asked, chewing on the inside of his lip.

"Making chocolate cake," was the answer, though d'Artagnan didn't sound too confident about it. He continued stirring the contents of the bowl.

"Really?" Aramis asked, raising his eyebrows in concern. He leaned over and peered into the bowl again. "Why've you got butter in there, then?" He ran a finger through the mixture and stuck it in his mouth. Whatever d'Artagnan had mixed together was bitter and salty. Not remotely sweet like the batter was _supposed_ to be.

d'Artagnan looked up from his spoon and into Aramis's eyes with a horrified expression. "No butter?" He said.

"Nope," Aramis answered, shaking his head. He gently took the bowl from d'Artagnan. "We can start over though, it's fine. You didn't get very far," He added, walking the few steps to the sinks and dumping the bowl in into one. Someone would clean it for them -- they had a few dishwashers floating around. He nodded towards the stack of clean bowls behind d'Artagnan. "Get another, I'll walk you through it," Aramis said, smiling.

He'd walked d'Artagnan through the recipe countless times before, but didn't mind doing it once again. It was one of the few things he could do in the kitchen without really concentrating on it. His mind was still rather focused on the incident from hours before.

Porthos with those thick muscly arms and that killer smile. The ripped t-shirt and the gym shorts. Aramis couldn't even remember what the dog had looked like. It had been dark, right? Brown? Black? Oh, who cared? He'd no doubt see the pooch again when it tried to steal his newspaper.

He couldn't quite believe he was looking forward to a dog stealing his newspaper.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan gently prodded, holding the empty bowl in front of him.

Aramis forced himself to abandon the idea of Porthos for a moment. "Alright, go get the baking chocolate, sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and powder, salt..." He rambled off a list of ingredients, turning and grabbing some of the things by himself. He stacked the vegetable oil, buttermilk and vanilla on the counter by the bowl and gently laid three eggs beside it all.

d'Artagnan returned with everything precariously piled in his arms. Aramis took everything from him, laughing.

He quietly walked the young man through the cake recipe, watching over his shoulder as he mixed everything in the bowl. Aramis took the spoon from him once or twice, making sure to get everything into the gloppy mixture.

"Alright, now get a cake pan, yeah?" Aramis murmured once he was certain they'd done all they could do the batter. He poured it into the pan once d'Artagnan returned with one. He handed it to him when it was full. "325 for 50 minutes, now. We'll start on eclairs while it cooks..."

It was three hours later between cupcakes and cheesecake when Aramis remembered that Porthos had promised to text him his number. He wiped his hands on his apron and slid out into the hallway to look at his phone. He pulled it out of his back pocket, tapped the screen and stared down at the notifications.

**[2] New Messages from Athos:**  
      Are you planning on coming to work today?  
      Hello?

**[1] New Message from Unknown Number:**  
      Nice boxers.

  
Fuck.

Aramis felt his face heat up as he read the message over again. He slid his finger to the right, opening up his phone. He poked to the message from Porthos and saved the number before answering.

He typed back a short message:

      Thanks ;)

  
And hit send.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ This is the recipe](http://chocolatechocolateandmore.com/2014/08/ding-dong-cake/) that I looked at when Aramis lists off ingredients. I've never made it, but have wanted to for a while.


	3. A Text Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is an idiot.

There was no time to wait for a reply to his message -- the second his thumb hit the send button, Athos shouted at him from inside the kitchen. Aramis started at the noise -- it was rare in and of itself for Athos to shout and, well, he'd been so wrapped up in trying to answer the text message, his world had really narrowed down to the object in his hands. He had no idea how long he'd been out in the hallway staring down at the bright screen, but apparently Athos thought it had been long enough. Aramis shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried back into the kitchen.

The rest of the day was spent bouncing between ovens and counters, stirring dough and icing and carefully sorting out d'Artagnan's messes. Aramis had no time to check his phone at all, though he was pretty sure he felt it vibrate _at least_ twice while he'd been fixing ganache.

The kitchen wound down, though, and slowly but surely, people left to go home. Aramis was one of the last out, hugging half a cake that would have been thrown out if it had been left in the fridge. He made up the dessert menu of things he liked for exactly this reason. If there were leftovers, he got to take them home. It was probably also the reason his fridge was mostly full of cake and condiments instead of actual food.

He made his way out of the restaurant and into the parking lot, where half the lights were already dimmed out. It was rather late -- he thought it had been around 10 when he'd last looked at the clock. Aramis moved quicker -- he wanted to go home so he could sit down. Sit down and read the texts he surely had gotten from his hot neighbor.

Aramis's car was a beat up old Toyota Corrola that his parents had bought him _way_ back in high school. It was mostly rust on the outside now, but it had only been in the shop maybe three times the entire time he'd owned it. True, it made funny noises when it was started up, and the heating required a punch to the dash to get going, but it got him places just fine. And, it wasn't like he had anyone to impress with it.

 _Until now,_ his brain helpfully supplied. Aramis hoped Porthos wasn't a car junkie, because his car was more of a piece of junk than anything to be admired. He pushed the thought from his mind, buckled himself in and drove home.

When he pulled into the driveway, Aramis couldn't help but notice that most of the lights were still on in Porthos's house. Flimsy curtains covered all the windows, but light could still be seen shining through. Aramis was certain that if someone walked by a window, their silhouette would be visible. No one walked by, though, leaving Aramis with absolutely no reason to continue sit in his car and watch like a creep. He pulled into his garage ashamed of himself and shut the door behind him.

Once he'd shoved the cake into the fridge and shed all work clothes, Aramis figured he _deserved_ to look at his phone. He'd been such a good person not checking it every five seconds like he'd wanted to all day. Now that he was home and free for the rest of the night, he could look and actually take the time to answer and enjoy any conversation that might come from the texts.

Flopping onto the couch, Aramis took his phone from his pocket, stabbed at the screen with a finger and unlocked it. The brightness almost blinded him -- he shot the backlight down about fifty notches before he could actually read what the screen said.

 **[2] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      They suit you.  
      You always go outside without clothes on?

He snorted out a laugh before typing out responses with just his thumbs.

      Oh thnx. They were a gift from one of my sisters.  
      And I don't make a habit of it.

Aramis had barely put the phone down when it vibrated to life on his chest. The smile already on his face grew wider as he read the messages half out loud.

 **[2] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      She's got good taste, then.  
      Maybe you should.

Even though no one could see him and he was perfectly alone in his living room, Aramis's face flushed bright red once again. What was it about his neighbor that set him to blushing so easily? He'd been around goodlooking people before -- he'd unconsciously made a habit of that. He'd definitely been around charming people before, too. He'd been around charming, goodlooking people. So why on earth did Porthos and his stupid arms and his stupid smile make him blush?

He'd only met the man once!

Aramis huffed out a breath before answering. He'd have to figure this whole business out later -- he wanted to enjoy this text convo while it lasted. His thumbs blurred as he came up with a reply.

      She usually does. You should see the Christmas sweater she bought me, tho.  
      ...Are you saying you enjoyed the view? Bc I did.

He reread what he'd sent and cursed under his breath, adding another message before Porthos had a chance to respond.

      I meant the view of you. Not the view of me. You know, me looking at you.  
      What I meant was, you looked good this morning.  
  
"Fuck," Aramis whispered under his breath. He let his head loll back onto the arm of the couch and stared at the ceiling. What was _wrong_ with him? He closed his eyes for a moment and swore he could have heard a great booming laugh come from next door. He wasn't entirely sure it was just his imagination, either. Figured. Finally got lucky enough to have someone hot live next door and he'd gone and made a fool of himself via text message.

As he stared up at the water stains on his ceiling, his phone danced on his chest with a new message. Aramis grabbed at it and managed to drop it on his face. It landed on his nose rather heavily, and his eyes started to water. Squinting through the pain, Aramis could see Porthos's response.

 **[4] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      Does the sweater have lights on it? If it doesn't, it's not as bad as the one my friend bought me.  
      I am saying that.  
      LOL thanks. It's good to know I look good literally rolling out of bed.  
      :)

Aramis's heart bounded in his chest. He stared at the emoticon for far too long, willing his heart to either slow down or stop feeling like it was going to jump out of his ribs. He'd been right -- that _had_ been Porthos right after he'd woken up. Maybe that was what he slept in, too -- those gym shorts and that ripped up tee.

And....and Porthos had admitted to thinking he was attractive. That was blowing his mind just a little bit. Not that he thought himself ugly, by any means. Aramis took great pride in his looks, thank you very much. But to be told rather blatantly by the man he'd been daydreaming about all day that he found him attractive...well, Aramis preened just a little as he laid back on the couch.

Once he'd regained control of his brain, he managed to type back.

      No lights. But there are pom-poms. So, so many pom-poms.  
      That was you just out of bed?  
      Not fair.

Aramis hit send and snuggled down into his couch cushions. The exhaustion from the day was starting to seep further into his bones, sending him oozing into the softness of the couch. His feet and legs ached from standing all day -- he did it all the time, of course, but a long day was a long day. And any day cleaning up after d'Artagnan qualified as a long day. He adored the kid, but Aramis was quite sure he would never be a good pastry chef. There were plenty of jobs in the kitchen, though, so Aramis was certain they'd find something he was good at, if he insisted upon working under Athos.

His phone rumbled on his chest again, and Aramis picked up just enough so he could read the screen.

 **[1] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      Not fair? Have you SEEN yourself in just boxers?

Aramis snorted, sleepily. He responded with:

Don't misdirect -- we're talking about YOU.  
  
He set the phone down on his chest after hitting send and promptly fell asleep.

His phone went off several times, but Aramis slept on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr.](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/)


	4. A Coffee Dateish Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mwahahah two updates in a week. hope you all like this one.

Aramis awoke to a dark house at around four in the morning. He blinked at the blackness of the room, almost surprised at how little light there actually was. His bluray player blinked the time at him from under the tv -- 4:13 -- and Aramis let out a tiny squawk of surprise.Sitting up slowly, he felt something heavy fall into his lap. A blind grope around came up with his phone. He pressed the button at the bottom and was rewarded with a dim enough light to see by.  
  
That, and several messages from Porthos, whom he'd fallen asleep on.

Shit.

**[6] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      I don't wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about you.  
      Mr. Heart Boxers  
      ...did I offend you or did you fall asleep?  
      I'm guessing asleep.  
      I get my schedule tomorrow, so I'll ask you out then  
      Goodnight.

_I'll ask you out then_

Aramis's heart thudded hard against the inside of his chest. So that was definitely a thing that was happening then -- Porthos definitely wanted to turn that I'm-sorry-about-my-dog dinner into an actual date. A date. Aramis was going to go on a date with his hot neighbor. The thought flooded through his brain, saturating it for a few long seconds before the exhaustion took over again. A yawn racked through his body, sending shivers up his spine and tears into his eyes. He'd have to worry about Porthos more in the morning.

But....but, there was a big gap between the timestamps of the second and third message, and Aramis felt his heart sink. How rude of him to completely zonk out in the middle of a good text message flirt session. One that he'd been so looking forward to all freaking day! He thought about opening them all and replying to them, but he didn't want to wake Porthos up with stupid inane texts. It was only four in the morning, after all.

Stretching towards the ceiling, Aramis slowly rose to his feet and padded towards his bedroom. Sure, he'd only get a few more hours of sleep before he was expected back at work, but they were a few hours he'd like to have. He flopped face first into his mattress, crawling forward until his entire body was on the bed. It didn't take long after that for him to fall back asleep.

He woke the next morning to the sound of his alarm going off -- for once it actually did its job properly. (Aramis had a habit of sleeping right through them. It wasn't really his phone's fault.) He didn't startle awake, either. It was a nice slow revelation. Aramis blinked, yawned, stretched like a cat and then, was fully ready to face the day. It was unusual for him -- mornings usually required a lot of incoherent whining and feet dragging before he was properly and truly awake. But this morning...this morning he had something he could look forward to.

Or at least enjoy, anyway.

Aramis -- still clad in whatever he'd been wearing on the couch last night -- grabbed his phone from the charger and swiftly unlocked it. He stared at the messages Porthos had sent his way the night before and grinned at screen. What a flirt Porthos was. Aramis was thrilled. It was so much more fun to flirt with someone who knew how to respond properly. He quickly thumbed out replies and hit send.

      Sorry, sorry. I did fall asleep. Long day at work yesterday.  
      Hope you slept well.  
      Also hoping this didn't wake you up.  
      Sorry if it did.

Aramis shoved his phone in his pants and quickly (for him) got ready for the day. By the time he'd showered and dressed, it was only just starting to get properly light outside. He moved into the kitchen and started the coffee maker, leaning against the counter to wait. He brought his phone out and was surprised (happily) to see that someone had already answered him.

**[4] New Messages from Porthos:**  
      It's alright -- I figured you fell asleep :)  
      I slept pretty good. Hope you slept better, though.  
      Didn't wake me up. Dumas's been bugging me to let him out.   
      I'll make sure he doesn't get your paper though.

Aramis smiled at his phone like an idiot, plenty happy to just have a form of communication with Porthos. Even if they were talking about sleeping and his dog. Whatever. He didn't care. But...maybe...

He typed out a quick response that had almost nothing to do with anything Porthos had said.

      Want some coffee? Fresh made. :)

The response was almost immediate.

**[1] New Message from Porthos:**  
      Yeah, alright. :)  
      Your doorbell work?

Aramis's eyes widened. Shit. Was his house clean? He threw his head over his shoulder, staring at the living room. Good enough. There was a pillow on the floor, but that wasn't a pigsty by any means. He looked at his kitchen -- it was actually fairly prestine, considering he hadn't been home almost at all yesterday. Finally, as a last check, he looked down at himself.

The black t-shirt he had on wasn't exactly the most impressive of all his clothing but it was hot in the restaurant kitchen and he wore a chef's jacket over it all day. It would have to do. Or...he could go put on that green button down Constance had given him for his birthday. Aramis weighed the decision for a second before darting back into his bedroom and throwing the button down on over his t-shirt. Better to be safe than sorry.

The doorbell rang just as he was turning out of his bedroom. He slid on socked feet the last few inches to the door, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a breath before yanking it open.

The sight behind almost made him moan out loud. Instead, he had to quickly change it into something else. Porthos was actually properly dressed this morning. He wore dark wash jeans and a wonderfully tight shirt. The sleeves clung to his arms, almost digging into the flesh. The jeans...oh, the jeans. Aramis could write odes to those jeans and the wonders they did for Porthos's ass.

Aramis was having a hard time deciding whether he preferred him in his pajamas or in actual clothes.

"Youuu didn't let me answer!" Aramis said, grinning widely as he opened the door to let Porthos in. He walked past, and all Aramis could smell was faint cologne and what must have been Porthos's soap. It was enough to make his mouth water.

"Eh, figured if it didn't work, I could knock..." Porthos shrugged, turning to face Aramis with a beautifully white smile. He held out a blue plastic wrapped rectangle towards Aramis. It took him a second to register what it was, but once he did, he ducked his head and laughed. "Your paper -- told you I wouldn't let Dumas get it," Porthos said, grinning wider.

Aramis took it from him and tucked it under one arm. "Personal delivery by a handsome man...I could get used to this," He said, throwing a wink at Porthos. He really _could_ get used to having Porthos in his house -- what a view it would be. He shook the thought from his head and moved into the kitchen, waving his guest along.

"I hope you don't take cream in your coffee 'cause I never buy it. I've got sugar and milk, though," Aramis said as he moved around the kitchen, grabbing mugs from cabinets. He ducked into the fridge for the milk -- he preferred his coffee almost all milk, actually. Milk and lots and lots of sugar.

"Nah, milk's fine," Porthos answered from his spot in the corner. He was leaning against the cabinets, quietly taking in all the kitchen. And probably staring at his ass, Aramis realized quite suddenly. He was sort of...inviting it, being bent over in the fridge and whatnot. Oops.

"Oh good," Aramis murmured, pouring coffee into the two mugs and handing one to Porthos. "Help yourself to the milk and whatever," He waved a hand towards the counter where he'd deposited the two items. Waiting his turn, Aramis blew gently on the steaming coffee, watching Porthos carefully pour milk into his mug. Once he was done, he shoved the jug towards Aramis.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Porthos asked, leaning back against the counter, this time much closer to Aramis. The lack of space was quite welcome.

Aramis poured spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his cup before answering. "Pastry chef at The Garrison restaurant," He said, looking up from his cup to grin at Porthos.

Porthos looked impressed, eyebrows raising up towards his hairline. "I've never been. You any good?"

Aramis choked out a laugh. "I'd certainly hope so," He paused to take a careful sip of his coffee. "I'll bring you a cake sometime. Now, what do you do?"

Porthos was in the middle of drinking his coffee, so it took him a minute to swallow and form words properly again. "Bank cop," He answered, with a short laugh. "Security, really, but we dress like cops and people treat us like cops. Had to go through the same general training, too. So...bank cop," He finished, shrugging.

Aramis resolutely did not think of Porthos in a cop uniform.

Okay, so maybe he did.

A little.

Maybe.

A lot.

Yeah, a lot.

Mmmm.

"I bet you're good at your job," Aramis offered over the rim of his mug, forcing himself out of his small fantasy.

"Pretty decent, yeah," Porthos grinned. He took another nicely sized swig from his coffee. "You working today?"

"Short shift, I think. I hope to be home before 10...unlike yesterday," Aramis pretended to shudder, making a face into his drink. Yesterday had been miserable. He did not want to be there for over 10 hours again. "You?" Aramis asked.

"That why you fell asleep last night?" Porthos asked, looking fairly concerned. Aramis nodded. "And nah, got today off," Porthos answered, raising his mug towards Aramis like a toast. "Will be spent catching up on my TiVo and sleeping on the couch," He added, a boom of laughter following.

Aramis drained his mug and set it upside down in the sink. "Well, if you get hungry, come by the restaurant. I know the chef," He said, grinning. In all honesty, it probably wasn't a good idea to have Porthos come to the restaurant. Not this soon in...whatever this was going to turn out to be. His friends would either scare Porthos away or murder him in his chair. Either way...probably not a good thing. But he couldn't take back the invitation now. And Porthos could probably handle it -- he _was_ a cop.

"Are you working tomorrow?" Porthos asked, finishing his own coffee off. He copied Aramis's example and set the mug in the sink. He wiped his hands on his thighs before crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, actually," Aramis answered, looking quite happy about the fact he was going to spend 24 blissful hours doing absolutely nothing. (He was actually going to do laundry and maybe, _maybe_ read. But napping was definitely, absolutely on the agenda.) He bumped his shoulder against Porthos's.

Porthos bumped back. "Wanna go to dinner, then?" He looked down at Aramis, a small hopeful smile lighting his face.

"Yeah," Aramis answered, a much larger smile taking over his own face. "I really do," He added, ducking his head to look at his feet for a moment. When he looked back up, Porthos was absolutely _glowing_.

"Alright, then," Porthos answered, looking very much like he'd lost control over his face. His smile was so wide, Aramis was quite sure he could have counted all of his teeth. It was devastating, though, _especially_ when he knew he was the cause of it. Porthos leaned towards the doorway, though he didn't look like he wanted to. "I'll...uh...leave you to get ready for work, then. And uh...I'll text you?"

"You can text me. I probably won't answer too often cause I'll have my hands in food but I'll try," Aramis said, wiggling his fingers at Porthos while he made a face. Porthos huffed out a laugh and shook his head. Aramis walked him to the door, getting his hand on the knob before looking back at Porthos. "I'll talk to you later, then," Aramis said, smiling like a loon.

"Definitely," Porthos answered, leaning in and pressing a short soft kiss to Aramis's cheek. Aramis felt himself melting. He hoped Porthos didn't notice. "Thanks for the coffee," Porthos added, still with that stupid smile on his face.

Aramis opened the door, nodding over and over. "You're welcome," He mumbled after him, as Porthos walked down the sidewalk, waved, and crossed over the yard into his own. As soon as he was out of sight, Aramis shut the door and leaned against it.

Oh, he was so screwed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr.](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/)


	5. Help From An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry...late Christmas? This chapter is a little boring, I apologize.

Much to Aramis's surprise, work did not last all day and most of the night. He managed to get home before the sun completely set -- a feat in and of itself. It had been a slow night at The Garrison, and they had all the desserts they needed, so Athos told him to go home. Aramis had been fine with this order -- he'd been freaking out about his date the next day.

He had a date.

With his hot neighbor.

It was still sinking in, but it was starting to become more of a reality. Aramis was going to go on a date with Porthos, the hottest bank cop he'd ever known. And no, he didn't know any bank cops _other_ than Porthos, but he figured this wasn't important. Porthos was likely the hottest one on earth, without much competition.

He'd gone home in less of a rush than the day before and managed to relax for all of three seconds on his couch before the idea of what he was doing the next day smacked him in the chest again. He heaved in deep breaths of air but the panic was still close to the surface.

He hadn't been on a date, a real proper date in ages. What if he accidentally did something wrong? What was he going to wear? Did he have nice enough clothes? Did he need to go out shopping?

Aramis sucked in another breath and scrambled for his cell phone. There was one person he knew he could call for help. She'd know what to do with him. He poked at his contacts list until he found the right number and held it to his ear once it started to ring.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was tinny in the tiny phone speakers, but the sound of it was a comfort Aramis rather desperately needed.  
  
"Anne, I've got a date tomorrow and I don't know what to wear or what to do and I don't want to mess it up but what if I do and I need your help, please," Aramis rattled, barely breathing at all or pausing at the end of his sentences while he spoke.

A burst of laughter bubbled through the speakers. Aramis could hear her shuffle something around before she spoke up again. "Aramis, breathe, love. It'll be fine. Do you want me to come over? I'm not doing anything important and Louis's still at work..."

"Would you? I don't...you don't have to if you don't want to, I mean, I can just...figure it out on my own, I guess," Aramis mumbled, not meaning half the words that came out of his mouth.

He could hear the laughter in Anne's voice when she answered. "I'm coming over. You wouldn't have called if you weren't halfway to backing out already."

"Okay," Aramis said, smiling despite the anxiety that was still creeping up the back of his throat.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't do anything stupid," Anne added, hanging up abruptly before he could say goodbye.

He and Anne had dated a few years ago, back when they had been both young and stupid. Their relationship had fizzled out with the discovery that while they both liked one another, they lived two entirely separate lifestyles.

Anne had been a spoiled rich child growing up and was now married to someone who was equally rich and spoiled. Aramis never got the story of how they had met, but he figured it was probably at some fantastic party or charity event or something of that nature. He'd never particularly liked Louis, but then again, he hadn't ever hung around him without Anne around.

Aramis, on the other hand, had grown up in a large, loving family who never quite had enough money to spoil their children. They'd never wanted for anything, but they never had everything they wanted, either. There were hand-me-downs and broken toys and siblings fighting and _fun_.

Anne and Aramis had almost nothing in common other than their mutual attraction. It had been fun while it lasted, but Aramis knew going in that it wasn't going to be a lasting thing between them. For one thing, most of his relationships weren't, and for another, it was a fast burning love. It was hot and bright and over quickly.

They still loved each other, but it wasn't a romantic love any longer.

Aramis laid back on his couch, drumming his fingers on his chest while he waited for Anne to arrive. She'd knock some sense into him with her no nonsense attitude. Either that or she'd just literally slap him upside the head until he stopped acting like an idiot. She'd never shied away from physical violence when it came to calming his stupid ass down. It was one of the things he liked most about her.

The door bell chimed exactly eleven minutes later, and Aramis bounded to the door and yanked it open. Anne was standing on the other side, impeccably dressed and holding a hanger with a black plastic cover hanging from it. Aramis raised an eyebrow at her, but she ignored him and walked right past. She continued down the hallway and turned right into his bedroom, knowing that he'd follow like a lost puppy.

Aramis shut the door first and did exactly that.

"Shirt off, please," Anne ordered once he'd appeared in her line of sight. She was perched on his bed, ankles daintily crossed while she ripped the cover off the hanger to reveal a beautiful maroon sweater.

He peeled his t-shirt off and threw it towards his laundry basket.

Anne tilted her head to the side as she looked at him -- Aramis wondered, for a moment, if this was how art felt in museums. She was staring at him like she wanted to figure him out, or perhaps -- and this was more likely -- she was just admiring the view. After a moment, she held out the sweater and smiled at him.

"Put this on -- it's from Louis's closet but he's never worn it. I think the tags are still attached, actually. It's not his color, either, so you can keep it," Anne said once he'd taken it from her.

Aramis slipped the sweater over his head and smoothed it down over his front. It was extremely soft and clung to chest in the most wonderful way. He turned this way and that trying to look down at himself to see how it looked. When he glanced back up, Anne's eyes went wide for a split second before she regained her composure. She nodded at her selection.

"It looks lovely on you. You have to wear it," Anne murmured, her smile much wider now. She folded her hands into her lap and nodded again.

Aramis caught one of the tags that were dangling from the armpit. His eyes bugged out as he read the price. He blinked and read it again, just to be sure. The numbers remained the same. "Anne, this is a $300 sweater."

Anne blinked and shrugged. "So?"

"So, I can't take this from you! It's too much!"

"You can and you will. It's fine. I already told you, Louis has never worn it. I'm not even sure he knows he had it."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Anne gave him one of her high society looks and Aramis glared at her, his brown eyes sharp.

"I'm not taking it back, and you said you needed something to wear for your date so there you go. Don't start with me, Aramis. You will lose," Anne said, raising her head slightly. She lowered it again when Aramis let his shoulder slump in defeat. "Now...tell me about this date of yours?" She asked, a smile once again appearing on her small mouth.

Aramis heaved out a sigh and let his arms flop down to his sides.

"He's my neighbor. Literally. He lives right next door. His dog has stolen my newspaper for weeks and I met him a few days ago and he's beautiful. Literally the most gorgeous man I've ever seen and he asked me out to make up for the stolen newspapers and he was here this morning and I don't know him well but he's handsome and nice and I don't want to mess this up," Aramis rambled, once again not breathing between sentences.

Anne blinked at him.

" _Well_ ," She started, shifting on his bed into a more comfortable position. She relaxed out of her society stance and into the one she usually adopted around him. She let her back slump and leaned back onto her hands before continuing on with her sentence. "I don't think you'll mess anything up -- you know what to do on a date, Aramis. I'm not sure why you're all freaked out," She finished, shrugging slightly.

Aramis let out a small whine and flopped his arms against his sides again. "But...!"

"No buts -- you know what you're doing, you're just...freaked out for some reason I fail to understand," Anne cut him off, shaking her head. "Just be yourself! Cliche advice or not, it does actually work, I promise," Anne added, with another smile.

Aramis stared at her. Why wasn't she getting that he was nervous for a good reason? Porthos was...Aramis didn't know what Porthos was but he was _special_ , okay? He couldn't put a finger on why -- he just was.

Anne ignored the look on his face. "So you wear that and...have you got those tight black pants still?" She leapt off the bed and helped herself to his closet, kicking away dirty boxers with her tiny feet as she moved inside.

Aramis stayed where he was, letting a sigh push out of his lungs. This was not exactly helping...but it wasn't really hurting, either. She was distracting him, at least.

Anne appeared holding a pair of pants out towards him. "The sweater and these. You'll look... _irresistible_ ," She said, smirking at him.

Aramis made a face at her before taking the pants and laying them on the bed. Irresistible. That could work in his favor. But Porthos had already seen him in his boxers, so...maybe this was all futile.

But on the off chance it _wasn't_ , Aramis was going to wear exactly what Anne had picked out for him. He advice had never steered him wrong before.

"Alright, I'll wear it," He said, turning and smiling at her.

"Good. He'll love you," Anne murmured, walking over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Stop freaking out about it, okay?" She raised a hand to his cheek for a moment before letting it fall.

Aramis closed his eyes into the brief touch. "That's easier said than done, but I'll try," He answered, nodding. He would try, but would probably fail. He'd get no sleep tonight, he just knew it.

"That's all I ask." Anne smiled at him again and then moved away. "Alright, if you're done with your mental breakdown, I have to get back. Louis should be home soon," She said, gathering her purse from the end of his bed and slinging it over her shoulder.

"But what if..." Aramis started. He had so many what-ifs.

"You'll be _fine_ , Aramis. I know it," Anne cut him off, shaking her head. She waited for him to follow before leaving the bedroom and heading back towards the front door.

Aramis pulled the door open for her. "Thank you for coming. I...I appreciate it," He mumbled, throwing a grateful smile at her. Anne laid her hand on his arm and gave him a squeeze as she passed.

"You know I'd do just about anything for you," Anne whispered. She pressed a kiss against his cheek before slipping out the door. "Call me if you need me again, Aramis. Do try to not freak out -- everything will go fine." She flashed another smile before disappearing down his sidewalk and into her car.

Aramis was left standing in his doorway wearing an expensive sweater, staring at out at the street.


End file.
